Watchword
by Quinndolynn
Summary: Tiva post-ep for 7.1, heavy on the stares. roundabout sequel to "Rescue."


Title: Watchword

Summary: Gazed and gazed upon

Disclaimer: I have no right to do this. But I do anyway. A little bad language I think.

Note: This can be read as a post-ep for 7.1, or as a follow-up to my pre-premiere speculative fic "Rescue." So this is for those who asked if I would continue, because no one's asked that before…

_In the elevator, things are simple. Outside is another story. There are people, and duties, and allegiances small and large. Everything that seemed still and quiet in the neat tight space are loud and deafening as applause out in the real world._

_After they exit the elevator, life gets complicated._

***

In Somalia, before she left, she spoke with her father.

Her father wants her back. Her father wants to see her, wants to hold his daughter in his arms and know that she is whole and safe. At least, this is what he tells her.

She knows that her father wants her back in the fold. He wants her back by his side and on his side of the ocean. Back where she belongs.

Ziva's not sure that she belongs in his arms, proving she is safe, if not whole.

She takes her father's communication in the satellite version of MTAC they have running out there in the desert, and she debriefs him quickly on her experience, and she stands and spreads her hands in the universal language of, _see, I'm in one piece_. She does not make plans for her aliyah.

It is not his waiting arms that signal home now. Home is Tony on one side of her and McGe on the other as they all walked together out of that hell. Home is Gibbs waiting for them at the end of the hall, his rifle resting patiently on his shoulder, having chatted up all the terrorists it could.

Her father watched her throughout their conversation with disbelieving eyes, but she could end the call, let the screen go dark.

The other watching eyes she can't escape as easily.

***

In the here and after, they watch her more.

It's not subtle, and really, it's understandable. It's simple and human and annoying as hell. Everyone looks at her with more caution and worry than they did before, because before, Ziva was indestructible, or acted enough like it, often enough, that they forgot. Ziva was Ziva, and if she spoke other languages and observed other customs, then maybe she had an in with a different set of physics laws, or at least the ones governing velocity and projectiles.

Now Tony is prepared to put up more of a fight when she tries to get behind the wheel. He's seen her for what she really is, a broken body in a chair, bound like the rest of them by mortal laws. He, especially out of all of them, hasn't stopped watching her, with his too-intense eyes, since she hugged Abby hello in the bullpen.

* * *

Gibbs watches her more now as well. Actually he watches both of them, Tony too, though Tony is either oblivious or thinks that if he ignores the stares they'll go away.

Gibbs didn't see her in the chair, helpless, defeated, and realize she's human after all. No, Gibbs watches her because he's seen too much already. He's not waiting for her to fall apart, or crack, or vanish again, all the reasons why McGee tests her computer's functions more often and Ducky asks her to check over translations for his new language course, and Abby keeps finding reasons to hug her and confirm her existence.

Gibbs watches her because she's one half of an equation. An uncertain equation that's still being balanced, and may or may not have an explosion at the end of it. As far as Gibbs is concerned Ziva still does have the power to write her own physics laws. He just knows that that power makes her volatile, as well as indestructible.

His would be the most disconcerting of the gazes, but the other half of the damned equation beats him by a long shot.

***

After they exit the elevator, life gets complicated.

The bullpen is a twilight zone, familiar, but like something out of a dream. She wants to sit somewhere quiet and digest everything that's happened, but Abby is bouncing in her space and Vance has some forms for her to fill out, and in the usual mess that exists outside of the serene bubble of Gibbs' unofficial office, she loses Tony.

The usual mess turns out to be a blessing in disguise though. Distractions allow her to ignore him for a while, and it's exactly what she needs. She can start to process his return to her orbit, deal somewhat with the way the world after isolation rubs her raw between the shoulder blades. Business is a balm.

Until it's not. There's a pause, and there's a space, and it's between them, and the rest of the hallway is empty.

Ziva breathes in deep, absorbs the office carpet and the ventilation hum, such quiet hallmarks of a world she'd thought lost. It still itches between her shoulder blades, the normalcy of it all, but less and less every hour. She exhales, and a little more of Somalia leaves her body.

"If you keep watching me like this," Ziva tells Tony in the hallway, "I will go to the director and tell him I'm going back to Israel."

Tony opens his mouth and comes dangerously close to saying something earnest and true and incredibly stupid.

She gives him a death glare. It's familiar on her face, not like the lost expression he often sees her wear since they rescued her, and he feels his own features crease into the automatic response, a cocky shit-eating grin. It feels so normal, this same old back and forth they have done a million times before, he has to laugh. She looks at him like he's crazy, but maybe they both are.

"Fine," Tony says, holding up his hands in a placating manner, two fingers raised in scouts honor. "I won't look at you."

"Good," Ziva says shortly, warily, because she's sure that's not the end of it. Tony doesn't disappoint. Rather he closes his eyes, feels at the air with his outstretched fingertips.

"Just call me the Miracle Worker," the senior field agent quips, and he takes a step toward her, arms outstretched to feel out obstacles. She backs away, but he's faster than she would have guessed with his eyes shut and before she can think to move, she's trapped between Tony with his eyes closed and the hallway wall, his outstretched arms on either side of her. She could still duck away but the audacity of it has her pinned in place. She wants to point out that they are in a public place, but before she can protest he puts his mouth next to her ear and asks if she wants to practice sign language with him.

Maybe it's not the watching that's been driving her mad, because even with his eyes shut fast, he can still disorient her.

There's so much waiting in his gaze, and even with all that has passed between them, maybe especially with all that has passed between them, the thought of more staggers her and steals her breath.

He steals her breath.

His mouth is still next to her jaw even though he's stopped speaking

Ziva must have suffered head trauma somewhere along the way, because ever since she laid eyes on this man in that cell he's been throwing her brain into short circuits.

Tony pulls back a little, opens his eyes, waiting for an answer to questions asked and unasked.

She wants to open her mouth and say yes, to sign language, to anything, but of course, now that he's not blocking her view she can see that Gibbs is at the end of the hallway. Ziva has to blink away the superimposed image of him with a rifle before she can see his face, and read there his recognition of a solved equation.

Maybe the former sniper is getting soft in his old age because the way he watches them now makes it seem like the solution isn't going to be nearly as volatile as he thought.

"Grab your gear," Gibbs says, but it sounds like, _about time_.

(If it wasn't clear, this can take place in the hours/days after Ziva's arrival back at NCIS, or after the scene between Tony and Ziva in the elevator in Rescue. Hopefully it works both ways. I quite liked this as a writing challenge, but I think it might be the end of my NCIS fic for a while. I want to wait and see how the season unfolds!))


End file.
